


So Long, And Goodnight

by Silverofyou



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur is an idiot, Community: inceptiversary, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, and eames is so patient, but we love him, more fluff!!!, trope: confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverofyou/pseuds/Silverofyou
Summary: "Wait." Arthur pulls back, taking Eames's face between his hands and frowning. "Why are you kissing me?"





	So Long, And Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> Again, many many thanks to the inception discord server for brainstorming, brainstorming some more, putting up with my indecisiveness and being generally awesome. I LOVE YOU <3
> 
> And as always, throwing all my gratitude and love at Q (queuebird)! This time for space facts, the tattoo idea, the cute lil comments in the doc that lifted my spirits over the clouds, and for being the most amazing and patient beta in the entire world. And also the most amazing friend in the entire world. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The trip was Eames’s idea, because of course it was. He told the others it was a business trip with a client that requested him alone, but Arthur knew better. Mainly because Eames invited him along. 

“Didn’t the client request you alone?” Arthur said, perfectly reasonable, in his opinion. Apparently not in Eames’s opinion, judging by the glare he sent him from across the warehouse meeting/lunch/multi-purpose room.

“Yes, but I would like to take you along to help me out with the details,” Eames said, smiling. It’s forced, Arthur could tell. He raised his eyebrows. “The client doesn’t need to know,” Eames continues.

Arthur pondered this. There was definitely something Eames didn’t want to tell the others, and Arthur wasn’t just gonna  _ expose  _ him. So he shrugged, and everyone’s attention shifted back to their dinner. 

All except Ariadne’s. When Arthur turned to look at her, she winked. 

Okay, then. 

\---

So now they’re in a summer cabin. It’s a pretty bungalow with big, floor-to-ceiling windows, an enormous kitchen connected to a dining room, a living room with a flat screen TV, and--

“Is that an indoor pool?” Arthur asks. It’s actually sort of outside, sort of inside, with big sliding doors for walls that open up to a beautiful backyard with palm trees and bushes and flowers.

“Isn’t it cool?” Eames beams. “Do you wanna get in?”

Arthur hesitates. He kind of wants to shower and then unpack, but Eames looks so excited Arthur just says, “Sure.”

Eames smiles brightly. “All right. Make sure you wear your tiniest piece of clothing, darling.” His wink is so lewd Arthur doesn’t even bother replying. 

\---

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me.” Eames pouts, disappointed.

Arthur knows what Eames is referring to, so instead of acknowledging it he just slides swiftly into the warm water of the pool. Ah, the  _ heated  _ pool. Thanks to the AC, it’s cool enough in the house that Arthur can appreciate the warmth. He closes his eyes briefly, dipping his head in the water. The shirt, which Arthur is  _ not  _ kidding about, sticks a bit uncomfortably to his skin, but he’s not about to take it off. When he comes back out, Eames is looking amusedly at him. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” Arthur asks, pushing his hair back and averting his gaze, because there’s something else in Eames’s eyes that he can’t read. He keeps his eyes down, watching the water ripple with the movement of his arms. 

Eames, being the incredibly irritating person that he is, jumps into the pool, splashing Arthur and sloshing water everywhere. Eames breaks the surface and swims towards Arthur, waggling his eyebrows. Arthur takes an involuntary step back and finds himself pressed against the wall of the pool, Eames’s face a breath away from him, and he has to remind himself that Eames is  _ always  _ like this, that he’ll pull back in a second. It’s not enough to make his heart stop racing. 

As if on cue, though, he has to shut his eyes against the spurt of water coming out of Eames’s mouth. Arthur groans and pushes Eames away, wiping at his face, and he can hear Eames laughing. 

“Three laps, winner takes the master bedroom!” Eames yells, already swimming away. Arthur rolls his eyes and follows immediately. 

\---

Smirking smugly at Eames, who’s glaring at him from the doorway, Arthur places his suitcase triumphantly on the king-sized bed.

“Shirt and all,” he adds.

\---

That night, after the maid has gone, Arthur and Eames sit on the couch in front of the TV eating barbecue ribs and drinking ice-cold beers. There’s a mindless action movie playing, and Arthur is monching happily, fingers stained with sauce, letting himself relax like he would never,  _ ever  _ do outside of his own house, when it occurs to him that they should probably start discussing the job Eames came here to do. 

“Hey, Eames?” he says, resisting the urge to lick at his fingertips and finding a napkin instead. He places the empty plate on the coffee table. 

“Yes, darling?” Eames, on the other hand, puts his whole damn finger inside his mouth to clean the leftover sauce. And no, it’s  _ not  _ done sexily,  _ at all.  _ Arthur wrinkles his nose, but Eames’s eyes are still glued to the TV and he doesn’t notice.

“You should probably debrief me on this job we’re supposed to do this week. Who’s your client? What kind of extraction is it? When are we meeting them?” If Arthur didn’t always spend so much time watching Eames, he wouldn’t have noticed the way Eames freezes for the briefest of instances. In the next moment, Eames turns to him, neutral expression on his face, but Arthur knows something is up.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Eames says naturally, and Arthur is reminded he’s talking to the best forger and liar in the business. Anyone would be fooled and let it drop, but Arthur isn’tis not anyone. He decides to play along, though. He’s curious about where Eames is taking this. “I talked to the client earlier today, I’ll meet her tomorrow.”

Arthur frowns, because he doesn't remember Eames making any phone calls. And also, “ _ You  _ are meeting her tomorrow?”

Eames isn't meeting his eyes. He just nods and pretends to focus his attention back on the TV. Arthur  _ knows  _ he’s pretending. “Yeah, just me. Remember? She doesn't know you came here with me.”

And, well, Arthur thinks, that kind of makes sense. And since Eames doesn't offer anything else, Arthur lets it drop. He supposesd he’ll ask again tomorrow.

\---

Two days pass. Eames makes up stuff about the supposed job, tells Arthur the client just wanted to meet up to discuss costs and other technical matters, but  _ Hey, since we’re already here, why don't we just stay till the end of the week?  _ And Arthur, who can't really complain about being alone with Eames in a beautiful summer house, shrugs and says  _ Sure, why not.  _ They eat ceviche by the pool, pizza on the couch, and drink whiskey on the porch. They watch bad movies on the TV, Arthur’s back against the armrest, feet safely tucked underneath Eames’s thigh. They drink wine in the kitchen as they heat up the food the maid left them for dinner, standing side by side against the counter, shoulders pressed against each other. Eames smiles a lot, and Arthur can't help but mirror him. After two glasses, Eames runs a finger over Arthur’s bottom lip, and Arthur stays very still, heart hammering in his chest. But then Eames smiles again and carries on with the conversation as if nothing happened. 

It confuses Arthur, a little bit. And sometimes he can’t help but wonder if maybe the way Eames acts around him is actually different from the way he acts around everyone else. And he’s Arthur, he’s supposed to be able to  _ see  _ and  _ know  _ these things, but it’s  _ different  _ when it comes to reality versus his own wishful thinking. 

  
So, really, it’s only natural that when they’re in the pool one late afternoon, drinking champagne like the pretentious shits they both are, Arthur blathering on about a recently-discovered Goldilocks planet in the Cygnus constellation, and Eames locks eyes with him and doesn’t look away, it takes Arthur several minutes to figure out what’s going on.

“What?” he asks, looking warily at Eames. He touches a hand to his forehead. “Do I have something on my face?  _ Eames,  _ stop looking at me like that and  _ say someth--”  _ He’s interrupted by Eames setting his glass on the border of the pool and moving closer to him. Very close, actually. Close enough that Arthur can feel a little bit of extra heat radiating from his damp skin. “What are you doing?”

“You’re bloody hot when you talk like that, you know that?” Eames has a wondering smile on his face and his eyes look a little dark, and Arthur feels himself flushing. Because oh, right, Arthur had been talking about rocket ships and light-years and all of humanity’s endless possibilities before his whole train of thought came to a halt when he noticed the way Eames was looking at him. 

Arthur pushes at Eames’s chest, embarrassed. “Shut up.”

Eames laughs. “Your ears just went all pink, darling.”

Arthur knows they must be bright red by now. He rolls his eyes and tries to swim past Eames, but Eames grabs his hand. Arthur turns around, intending to splash water into Eames’s face, but finds himself being gently pushed against the pool wall instead. 

“Eames--” he lets out, pulse speeding up. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Eames says, leaning in slowly. And oh, Arthur does want him to stop, and he doesn’t want him to stop at all. He stays very still, eyes glued to Eames’s lips, and Eames smiles, looking him in the eyes, before closing his own and pressing his mouth to Arthur’s. It’s more tentative than Arthur thought it’d be, and Arthur lets out a tiny breath through his nose, doesn’t move an inch.

Eames pulls back after a few seconds, his mouth tilted in amusement. “I know I’m very good at doing things by myself, but this is something I’d like your help with, if you don’t--”

Oh, fuck him. Arthur breaks free of his shock, rolls his eyes, and pulls Eames in by the shoulders. He kisses him slightly harder than Eames had, and Eames parts his lips almost immediately, letting out a huff of surprise. Arthur, taking advantage of the water’s buoyancy, hooks his legs around Eames’s waist. Eames makes a pleased little sound and settles his hands on Arthur’s thighs, taking a few steps back. Their kisses are wet and taste like champagne, and when Eames touches Arthur’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue, Arthur forgets to think entirely. Arthur’s shoulders get cold from the exposure to the AC, but he barely feels it. All he feels is Eames and Eames’s mouth and hands and stubble and--

“Wait.” Arthur pulls back, taking Eames’s face between his hands and frowning. Eames is blinking at him, startled. “Why are you kissing me?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever sounded so stupid in his life, but he just can’t find the way to think properly right now. Eames throws his head back and laughs, encircling Arthur’s waist with his arms. 

“Oh, Arthur,” he says, sounding impossibly fond, and Arthur flushes again. He moves his hands to rest on Eames’s shoulders again. “Arthur.”

And, oh, for fuck’s sake. 

“There was never a job, was there?” Arthur asks accusingly, everything falling into place. And wow, Arthur should listen to his instinct more often when it comes to Eames, because as it turns out, the tiny, annoying voice at the back of his head was  _ right.  _

Eames shrugs. “There  _ was  _ a client. And we  _ did  _ meet up, for like, twenty minutes. Admittedly, we could have discussed everything over the phone, but.”

Arthur stares at him, incredulous. “So you brought me here to, what, woo me?”

“Did it work?” Eames asks, waggling his eyebrows, but Arthur sees a hint of hope in his eyes. Seriously, Arthur is  _ dumb.  _ All that time spent staring at Eames, studying him, and hey, people  _ are  _ selectively blind, after all. 

Arthur pretends to think about it. Eames gasps in mock offense and dunks him. Arthur comes out spluttering, and Eames is right there to haul him up again, pressing him back against the wall. 

“You are such a gentleman, Mr. Eames,” Arthur deadpans, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. Eames’s eyes are sparkling when he leans in and kisses Arthur’s neck. Arthur breathes in sharply, tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Eames’s neck. 

“Can I take off your shirt now?” Eames asks against Arthur’s jaw, hands resting on the waist of Arthur’s trunks, fingers skimming over the bit of exposed skin there. “It’s fine if you wanna keep it, I only--”

Arthur closes his eyes briefly. It’s time for the truth. So long, future with Eames. 

“Uhm,” he says, and he’s not sure how it comes out, because Eames stops kissing him and looks at him, narrowing his eyes. Arthur takes a deep breath. “Well.”

Eames raises an eyebrow and Arthur thinks maybe he’s rubbing off on him. “Yes?”

“It’s probably-- no, actually, it’s definitely  _ not  _ what you think,” he starts. “It’s. Well. Oh, I’ll just show you, but you  _ can’t  _ laugh, Eames, I’ll kill you.” He frowns, so Eames will believe he’s serious. 

“I won’t laugh,” Eames says, delighted curiosity lighting up his eyes. He’s definitely going to laugh, and Arthur won’t even be able to blame him. “What is it? A birthmark?  _ A really embarrassing tattoo? _ ” Arthur glares at him. “Oh my god, it  _ is!  _ Arthur, darling--”

“If you don’t shut up right this instant you can forget about it entirely,” Arthur threatens, even as he struggles with the soaking fabric sticking to his chest. He slaps Eames’s hand away when he tries to help, but otherwise Eames stays dutifully quiet. Arthur turns his back to him, finally getting out of the t-shirt. He holds it against his chest, making sure everything is covered. He rolls his eyes at himself for being so ridiculous and turns around again. “Alright.”

Eames is clearly struggling against his smile. Arthur appreciates the effort, but it doesn’t make this any less embarrassing. In a second he makes the decision to stop being a wuss and removes the balled-up shirt. The water isn’t high enough that the tattoo is covered or distorted, so he settles on watching Eames’s face. Eames’s eyes move across Arthur’s chest, reading the words, and his eyes sparkle more with each second that passes, until he has to cover his broadening smile with his hand. Arthur splashes as much water as he can at him. 

“I  _ know,  _ okay? God, leave me alone, I was  _ sixteen. _ ” Arthur crosses his arms protectively, glaring at Eames again. Eames laughs, because of course he was going to laugh. “Eames!”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, darling, it’s just--” he snorts, reading again. “‘ _ So long and goodnight’,  _ My Chemical Romance?” Then he stops, eyes widening comically, probably imagining sixteen-year-old Arthur and coming very close to the actual thing, Arthur thinks. “Oh my god, Arthur, were you  _ an emo  _ at sixteen?”

Instead of replying, Arthur just glares at him harder. Eames runs a hand over his mouth to try to wipe off the smile, but it’s useless and Arthur hates him. Eames, however, isn’t deterred by Arthur’s murderous eyes and just swims closer to him, taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

  
“Arthur,” he says, tone serious but a tiny smile still playing on his lips. “Darling, you are  _ delightful. _ ”

This time Arthur’s eyes widen, and he feels pleasantly warm. Still embarrassed, very much so, but pleased. Eames presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Arthur smiles too. He rolls his eyes for good measure, though, and kisses Eames properly.

\---

Later, when they’re lying on Arthur’s hard-won king-sized bed, naked and blissful, Eames traces a finger over Arthur’s tattoo wonderingly. 

“Tell me about it,” Eames says, lips against Arthur’s shoulder. “Tell me about you, back then.”

So Arthur, settling one hand on Eames’s head, does.


End file.
